On Feeling
by Taki Ashflower
Summary: Little (? It was going to be, at least) story for Japan's birthday! Contains NiChu fluff and a dash of angst, but it's all good ;)


Kiku's thoughts on life, as with most nations' thoughts on life, differed greatly depending on the circumstances. He supposed it was the same for humans as well, but only in a very basic sense; humans had indeed perfected the art of feeling, and it was their own expertise that allowed nations to be able to feel at all, but they simply did not have the emotional capacity as was required of nations. By any means, there was no human who could possibly have endured the same heights of ecstasy and depths of despair as Kiku or any of his fellow nations; he was quite sure that no human, for instance, had ever had the death-defying thought that none of the countless deaths he had caused could ever, ever, take its rightful toll upon him. No human was capable of feeling the essence of their soul, ready to fly away at a moment's notice, coagulate in their blood as they piloted a kamikaze plane, and live to tell the tale (or keep quiet about it, as he did). No human could ever feel the deaths of a thousand, a million people as though it were their own, could ever feel their heart be pushed and shoved through hell and back again a hundred times a night. But it wasn't their fault. They weren't built for it; it was simply not possible for humans to experience any of that.

By consequence, however, it was also true that no human could ever fall deeper in love than a nation could. For better or for worse, it seemed that Eros' favorite victims (according to Heracles) were the ever-naïve, ever-vulnerable, ever-emotional embodiments of countries themselves. Based on what his friend had imparted on him of his famous myths, it did seem quite plausible to Kiku – as a mischievous little boy like he himself had once been, armed with weapons of mass destruction and horror, the notion of making _countries_ fall in love with each other would be absolutely irresistible. Just _think_ of the shenanigans one could get up to!

Kiku chuckled softly at this thought, then suddenly and involuntarily blinked himself back into the present, which found him in a darkened room at his desk, half-asleep and leaning dangerously far back in a swivel chair. The only light in the room came from the little adjustable lamp on his desk, underneath which were scattered several drawing pens, pencils, clay erasers, and various thumbnails and woodcuts. The memories came bolting back, like curious children who'd been caught straying out of line; he'd forgotten to eat dinner that night (again), and had ended up reheating leftovers and eating quickly and sheepishly with Yao shaking his head at him (again), then had sneaked back in to draw some more while Yao was on the phone with his boss (again), and had once again somehow been able to convince Yao to go to sleep without him, under the guise of that he'd "be there soon"… Kiku winced and smacked himself in the thigh, ashamed of himself at yet another broken promise. _Technically,_ a slithery voice at the back of his mind pointed out, _you never said you'd "promise",_ but he knew the voice well enough to also know that anything it had to say should always be disregarded and even contradicted, if it was possible.

Slowly, he got up from the squeaking chair, turning out the lamp, and walked over to the door. He'd finish tomorrow, his more reasonable voice instructed. He almost nodded his head in agreement. _Right now, you should go apologize to him for taking so long._

Kiku felt guilt spread over his face in the form of a blush; this was really far from an isolated occurrence. More nights than not recently, it seemed, he had had to search for excuses as to why he couldn't come to bed just yet, but would "be there soon". He wondered vaguely, unhappily, why Yao even bothered putting up with him, half the time… He stopped walking for a moment to take a deep breath, hold it, and let it go. It wouldn't do either of them any good if he spiralled down into self-pity now. If anything, Yao would probably only be more annoyed with him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

As he continued walking to his and Yao's shared bedroom, as quietly as he could, another memory unfolded itself in his mind. It was something Yao had said either that evening or a few evenings ago; he had barely registered it then, engrossed in his artwork, but for some reason it came back to him now.

Yao had been perched on the corner of his desk, surveying the mess of pages and utensils Kiku claimed to be "working" with, his eyebrows drawn together in a rather maternal sort of frown. The Japanese man had been able to tell exactly what he thought of said "work", and had been formulating a defense for his profession when Yao's abrupt comment caught him off guard.

" _Well, I can't say it does us much good financially…"_ The suddenly pensive, gentle way he had said this had surprised him, and his surprise did not lessen when a smile slowly wove its way onto his lover's face.

" _But I can see how happy it makes you. I know it stresses you out a lot, and me, for that matter-"_ at this point he had given Kiku one of his well-known looks, and the latter had blushed timidly under his gaze. _"-but I know how much you love being a manga artist. And it makes sense that you do, because I've yet to see a drawing of yours that didn't completely blow me away."_

He must have seen the dumbstruck look on his boyfriend's face, if the way he laughed (half lovingly, half amused) was of any indication. He then reached out a hand, brushing a few strands of (suspected nonexistent) hair away from Kiku's face, and continued rather sarcastically: _"You know, just in case you ever wonder why I keep you around, this is why."_

Kiku couldn't help the blush in his cheeks deepening as he turned the doorknob to their room – and, if he was being perfectly honest, he wouldn't have even if he could. That certainly answered his earlier question, and he mentally thanked whichever part of his brain had been the one to save that interaction into his memory banks. Most likely, it was an automatic reaction in his mind, originally put there by Yao ("every moment should be cherished, don't you forget it!" was not an uncommon saying to be heard when Kiku was growing up – or now, for that matter) that obsessive-compulsively preserved every instant of his existence somewhere in his head. Behind Yao's back, Kiku and Yao's other kids referred to this as the Wang Effect, and used it to explain why all five of them (Yao (the one responsible for all this), Kiku, Mei Li, Jia Long, and Yong Soo) both had excellent memories and kept regularly-updated scrapbooks.

There was another "Wang Effect" that was a secret, and would remain known solely to Kiku for the entirety of its existence. It was just too embarrassing to tell anyone else, especially the one who was responsible for it…

Said person had his back to the door when Kiku crept in – now that he thought about it, a lot of time had passed since Yao had come up here alone. He had probably been fast asleep for at least an hour now. Kiku stood still for a moment and trained his eyes on the still figure; the slow rise and fall as his lungs swelled with air and pushed it away reassured Kiku enough to the point of being able to shut the door and quietly make his way over to the bed. He had changed into pajamas a while ago, while Yao was also changing, and it occurred to him that Yao would have known very well at that time that Kiku would not, in fact, "be there soon". Sighing a little, he removed his slippers, lifted up the blankets and crawled in as carefully as he could.

"So, finally decided to join me, aru?"

Kiku inwardly cursed himself; he should've known. At his best, Yao was annoyed but understanding – at his worst, the passive aggression could last for days on end. And Kiku hadn't really dug himself a shallow hole here. "… Yes?" He replied uncomfortably.

"And what, exactly, prevented you from making your mind up roughly – oh, let's see." Yao's illusively peaceful form sat up with enough grace and speed to make Kiku start in surprise; he watched, thoroughly taken aback, as Yao's stormy amber eyes stared menacingly (and yet nearsightedly) into the digital clock on the opposite wall. _"Three hours ago?"_

Kiku flinched, biting back a weak apology as Yao continued, "What, exactly, was it again that could not wait until tomorrow – oh, I'm sorry, _today!_ You left me alone past _one in the morning,_ aru."

Even when speaking Japanese, Yao made a point of speaking elegantly. The sound of his little verbal tic, even uttered while angry, resonated with Kiku like a note of music. He felt a shudder in his susceptible heart, and tried to supress the wave of affection he could feel on the brink of taking him over as he bowed his head low into the mattress.

"I'm sor-"

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit," Yao snapped. Kiku felt a stinging in his chest; Yao rarely swore, even at Yong Soo, who was the main source of all his misery.

 _And me,_ Kiku realized sadly.

He cautiously raised his head, dreading the moment they'd make eye contact. The pain was just as he had anticipated, and he was immediately flooded with guilt as soon as he saw Yao's eyes glaring accusingly at him. He knew he deserved the look he was getting, and much worse besides.

"If you were sorry," Yao said with a voice like blood, "you wouldn't do this anymore."

"I know," Kiku replied.

"If you were sorry, you'd stop lying to me every time…" Kiku could hear his voice strain into silence, and had to physically fight the urge to lean closer to him.

"I know," he said again, averting his eyes to the space on the bed between them. Yao's slender arms were folded tightly over his abdomen, his long chestnut hair curling adorably around his biceps. The blanket had risen with Yao and now curled almost protectively around him, cutting them off from each other. The smaller male felt a pang at the thought of the silken barrier between them; the thought that Yao needed protection from him.

Why was it that everything was sending him into a downward spiral tonight?

"I-I know," he started up again, throat suddenly dry. "You're right, I shouldn't have lied to you. I shouldn't have kept breaking my promises, I'm sorry."

"Then why did you?"

This was a question Kiku had no idea how to answer, and Yao knew it as well as he did. How do you justify doing something you know is wrong? Moreover, how do you justify doing something you know is wrong to someone you love?

For one who had been in that situation countless times, it would make sense to think that Kiku had worked out a formula for that; no such luck.

A quiet but rigid tension had filled the air while Kiku remained at a loss for words and Yao remained impatiently waiting for him. Then, just as Kiku had started to get a grip on his tongue again, the sight of Yao's arms slowly falling to the mattress made him glance up, half curious and half anxious. He winced at the sight of his lover's eyes practically glowing with bitter tears.

"Why are you always sending me away?" He asked, tongue slipping into Mandarin. "Do you not want me around you? Is that it?" Yao bit the words out as his eyelashes darkened.

"What? No, of course not!" Where had _that_ come from? His instincts kicked in, and this time he couldn't stop himself from moving closer as Yao lifted a hand to his eyes. "No, Yao, that's not it at all."

"Then _what?"_ He demanded, exasperated, leaning away from Kiku.

He knew he didn't have an answer for that; not bothering to wait around for one, he gathered the blankets up to his shoulders and with an unhappy, "Never mind," he lay back down and turned his face away from his lover.

"Yao, love-"

" _Never mind,_ Kiku."

A moment of silence passed.

"… Look," Yao sighed, keeping his face turned away so the Japanese man wouldn't see the tears slowly running across his face. "I'm tired, you're probably tired. It's late. Let's just go to sleep. We'll talk about it later."

Yao, unfortunately, wasn't fooling anybody. Kiku could hear him crying through his voice, but as much as he wanted to wrap his arms around him, it was painfully obvious that it wouldn't do any good at this point.

"Okay." He murmured his assent, lying down beside the Chinese man (he could see his shoulders trembling, and felt a burning ache to reach out and stroke them into stillness) and not daring to reach out and snag a blanket or two for himself. He'd do fine without them tonight.

"Goodnight," he offered quietly. No reply was heard.

Not ten minutes had passed before Kiku sat up suddenly, staring at the other side of the room. "What day is it?"

Neither one of them had been asleep; Yao blinked and propped himself up on his elbows, staring (still hurt) at the back of Kiku's head. "What day? … Well, it's early morning right now, and last night was the tenth… So right now it's the eleventh. February eleventh." He narrowed his sleep-heavy eyes. "Why?"

Kiku turned to face him, eyes fully open. "February eleventh."

The meaning in his voice suddenly jolted Yao wide awake. "Feb- that's right. It's your birthday today, isn't it?"

Kiku nodded. He looked a little dazed, but it was hard to tell in this light (or lack thereof). Yao fully sat up next to him and squinted at the clock on the wall. He frowned; the combination of lack of sleep, crying, and lack of his glasses made the time too difficult to decipher. "What time is it?"

"One thirty-five in the morning," Kiku responded innocently, then immediately regretted his choice in tone. Really, his choice to respond at all, now that he thought about it.

"I'm sorry…" He trailed off. There wasn't much more for him to say than that.

As though sensing his struggle, Yao sighed quietly and nodded. His partner could see him fidgeting with a corner of the comforter in his lap. "Well," he began after a moment. "I guess… Happy birthday?"

A moment passed in which the two made eye contact. Then they burst out laughing.

"Oh, yeah," Kiku giggled. "This one's my best yet!"

Yao laughed, a few more tears falling from his eyes, and before he could stop himself Kiku reached out his hand and brushed the backs of his fingers over Yao's cheekbones. Surprisingly (and thankfully) enough, Yao let him, smiling in a mixed-bag sort of way. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're having fun."

"This part just now hasn't been so bad," Kiku pointed out with a gentle smile. Yao smiled back, if a little shyly, then lay back down.

"You said a while ago that you don't really enjoy your birthday anymore, right?" He asked, keeping his eyes on Kiku's. His voice was soft, still somewhat emotional, but Kiku could tell he was trying to keep it in. For him.

Kiku moved forward to lie next to him, putting one elbow into the mattress and resting his chin in his palm as his other arm went to curl tentatively around his lover. Yao's eyes followed his arm; when Kiku noticed and stopped, the older male reached out to take his hand and slowly brought Kiku's arm around to his back.

"I feel the same way," Yao continued, shifting closer and allowing Kiku's hold on him to tighten a little. "It all kind of fades into monotony after a while, huh?"

Kiku nodded. "Doesn't really make sense to keep up a tradition that wasn't even ours to begin with, either, does it?"

"It doesn't," Yao agreed. His voice sounded thoughtful. "I wonder why we do?"

Kiku shrugged, absentmindedly stroking Yao's back with his thumb. "I don't know."

He paused. "Have you ever noticed… There's a lot of things we do that don't make sense?"

"Mm," Yao confirmed, looking quite seriously at him. "Do you think it's a human thing?" Seeing Kiku's head tilt in confusion, he explained: "Even if we're not human ourselves, our actions and feelings are still dictated by human beings."

He paused to lick his lips. "When you think about it, we really have no free will at all… Sure, we can secretly feel our own emotions, and wish we could act upon them, but in the end… We're really powerless against our own people. Against the people we look after."

His eyebrows had become knitted with the sudden realization this brought, and the memories of his own experiences of being at the mercy of people he had looked after and loved as his own. The shadows of his and Kiku's former life loomed behind his eyes. This was something about Yao that few people realized; he was a hypocrite. He constantly gave (mostly unsolicited) advice to anyone who would listen, but when it came down to following his own advice – in this case, "stop living in the past" – he struggled with it immensely. It was hard to blame him, though; the only reason he gave out so much unwanted consultation was because he didn't want anyone else to end up like he was. "Learn by example," so one could say, even if Yao couldn't learn from his own.

"Perhaps…" Kiku began, searching rapidly for a way to direct the melancholy mood elsewhere. "… Or maybe it's an us thing."

"Hm?" Yao blinked at him. "'Us', as in, me and you?"

"Yes. And all the other nations as well. Maybe it's just something everyone does."

Yao took a moment to process what he was saying. "But isn't that what I just said? All the humans do it, so by nature of consequence…?"

"But maybe it's not them." Kiku leaned forward. "I don't think all our actions and feelings are influenced by our people. I mean, take us for example: most of your people are still pretty angry with mine for the Sino-Japanese Wars."

"And World War Two," Yao added, catching on. "And…" He trailed off, casting his eyes down. Kiku sensed it was best to withdraw his arm.

"Nanking," he finished quietly. "The Rape of Nanking. Which no one in my country dares to talk about."

"Which my people have not forgiven yours for."

Kiku tried his best not to watch Yao's face as his emotions passes over it. An unbearable, ticking silence fell over him while he waited for the older man, the man he had hurt so deeply, to continue.

"… But I forgive you." It came as a whisper, hard to tell who was meant to hear it.

Yao nodded to himself, affirming. "I forgive you," he repeated, and stole a glance upward. The Japanese man's doe eyes were clouded over, lost in bittersweet memory. Yao propped himself up on his elbows, capturing the other's attention as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Kiku's.

"Maybe you are right," he continued, smiling again. He wrapped his arm around the smaller male's neck, pulling him back down with him and settling his head into the pillow. "If we had no free will at all, we wouldn't be here together."

Kiku yawned, snuggling closer and closing his eyes. "I wouldn't be an artist. Wouldn't have the time."

"You barely do," Yao reminded him, and they chuckled together. "I wouldn't be able to share a house with you, or celebrate a bad birthday with you."

"Mm…" Kiku opened his eyes again, finding Yao's already watching him. Affection was twinkling in his eyes, his lips still curved in a soft smile; it was then that Kiku realized what he had meant when he'd forgiven him twice earlier.

Matching his smile, Kiku finished his sentence. "I wouldn't be able to do this," he murmured, and promptly leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Yao's cheek. The Chinese man hummed happily, curling his arm around Kiku and pulling him closer, taking the smaller man's hand in his and entwining their legs together.

They stayed there a while in that position, even after Kiku broke his lips away; their heads resting together, curled up (sharing the blankets this time), their hands entwined in the space between them. It was still dark outside, and well into the morning of February eleventh, but neither of them were really worried about sleep deprivation. They could sleep in tomorrow, Kiku thought sleepily, nice and late… Then maybe go for a walk beneath the sweet-smelling, budding cherry trees, hand in hand…


End file.
